


Ceremony of Innocence

by Morgan (morgan32)



Series: Slouching Toward Bethlehem [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, daddycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-13
Updated: 2009-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam, still struggling to rebuild their relationship, attempt an exorcism that doesn't go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ceremony of Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Any similarities to a certain famous horror movie are entirely intentional (though I think Dean's a lot better looking than the original Father Merrin *wink*).
> 
> Song lyrics quoted are from Fight Fire With Fire, Kansas.

Dean remembered asking "is this really you?" and knew that hearing the question hurt his dad as much as it hurt Dean to ask it.

"I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"

Dean looked back at his father from the hospital bed, and knew his confusion showed in his eyes. "Yeah, Dad, you know I will," he protested. As if he'd ever needed to be _told_ to watch out for Sam. He'd been doing it his whole life. So why was Dad saying this. Unless... "You're scaring me," he said, honestly.

John smiled, a rare, genuine smile. "Don't be scared, Dean." He leaned over the hospital bed and whispered soft poison into Dean's ear. "Something big is coming, and it's coming for Sammy. You've got to save him, Dean. You're the only one who can do it, and you can't tell him. He mustn't know, because if you can't save him, son, you might have to kill him."

John offered no explanation. Nothing. And although Dean was used to John giving orders and not explaining them, he knew this was different. If you're gonna drop a motherload like this on your kid, you damn well explain it. John would have explained. But he didn't and that frightened Dean even more than John's whispered words.

He knew John was saying goodbye.

He called after John as he walked away, but his dad didn't look back. Dean tried to get up from the bed, wanting to follow and demand answers, but a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him and he lay back on the pillows. He wasn't as healed as he'd thought.

But there was Sam. Sam would be back shortly; Dean would tell him what John said and _Sam_ could go find him.

But minutes passed and Sam hadn't returned. Dean, tired of waiting, made another attempt to get out of bed. He moved more slowly this time.

He'd just managed to get himself upright when the lights in Dean's room and the corridor outside flickered wildly, sending a rush of adrenaline through him.

Then he heard the shot.

Dean knew that sound. It was gunfire, but not just any gun. It was the Colt.

With a superhuman effort, Dean made for the door. His head swirled and swam, but he stumbled out into the hallway, following that sound. Fear lent him strength. Fear, because John wouldn't have wasted their last, precious bullet. Was the demon here? Now? In the hospital?

He passed three doors, checking each room as he went by. His vision was beginning to grey out when he found Sam. Sam, standing in an empty room with the still-smoking gun in his hand.

The body of a man lay on the ground in front of Sam and for a heartstopping moment Dean thought it was John. Then he saw his dad, alive and unhurt, and his heart started beating again.

***

**A Month Later**

_Oh there is nothing to lose, 'Cause it's already lost  
In a runaway world of confusion  
I'm gonna take it  
That's why I fight fire with fire  
Oh, I'm burning inside and my heart is a-cryin'_

The Impala's newly-replaced engine purred as Dean floored the gas. Air rushed in through the open windows, bathing him in the scent of the fall fields around them. Dean reached forward and turned the music up. He set the volume as loud as he could, louder, until he could feel he bass beat in his skin, in his pulse, in his gut. Until the smile on his lips broadened into a wide grin of pure joy.

It was good to be back on the road again.

Sam turned the music off.

"Hey!" Dean protested. He reached out to the stereo and Sam smacked his hand away.

"Dean, we've got to talk about it sometime."

Dean glanced quickly toward Sam, then back to the road. The memory of his brother naked in their father's arms was branded into Dean's brain. He wasn't getting over it any time soon and the _last_ thing he needed was to talk about it. "No," he said firmly. "We really don't."

Sam didn't answer.

They'd spent the best part of a year searching for their dad, all across the USA. All that time, what sustained Dean on the road, what kept him going no matter what weird shit life threw at them, was the thought that maybe, when they found John, the three of them might be a family again. He knew it wouldn't be easy - too much bad blood for that. But it was _possible_.

One hunt went south; now Dean's dream of having his family back was forever beyond them.

All the anger he'd been holding in burst free. "What are you still doing here, anyway?" Dean demanded.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Demon's dead, Sammy. You killed it, remember? Ain't you goin' back to school now?"

Sam gazed at the road ahead, silently. Eventually, he said, "It's almost Halloween."

"Yeah, so?"

"It was Halloween night when you came to get me at Stanford."

Dean found he was smiling in spite of himself. He couldn't imagine Sam actually _doing_ the Halloween thing: costumes and trick-or-treats. He'd hated it when they were kids. "Yeah. Sorry."

"No!" Sam exclaimed. "You were right to come. I...I don't wanna lose you, man."

_You should have thought of that before you let Dad fuck you_. Dean kept his eyes on the road.

"We can be a family, Dean. Isn't that..." Sam broke off abruptly, raising a hand to his face. He drew in a shaky breath.

"Sammy?"

"Just another headache." Sam reached into his pocket and extracted a packet of painkillers. He swallowed two. "I'm okay," he insisted, though Dean hadn't asked.

Dean turned the music on again.

Shit happens. Some shit you can't talk about.

Dean knew Sam thought he was being unreasonable. Sam believed he'd been saving their dad's life. And maybe that was true.

But Sam didn't know everything Dean knew.

Dean remembered the way John used to watch Sammy when he was a young teenager. Dean remembered the cold terror he'd felt when he realised what that look was. He'd kept Sammy safe though, finding ways to put himself between them, to make sure John didn't get the opportunity to...to hurt Sammy. He kept Sammy safe. That was his job.

And he fucked that up good.

Oh, god, was he really regretting that his father was _alive_? Shit, that was messed up, even for Dean. He didn't want his dad dead. He really didn't.

But he knew the truth, and he couldn't tell Sam. The succubus' curse was real enough, but Dean knew it wasn't the real reason his father fucked Sam. The succubus just gave him the perfect excuse to do something he'd wanted for a long, long time.

And Dean let it happen.

***

"What are we doing here?" Sam asked as he saw the Roadhouse ahead.

"Jo said her brother Ash would help us track those signs Dad was talking about."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "And we need help because...?"

"Because the laptop got fried and we haven't replaced it yet, genius." Dean drew up alongside a battered station wagon and shut off the engine.

"So let's go buy a laptop," Sam suggested. Then he grinned. "Oh. I see. You want another chance to bang Jo."

"Sammy, I am offended you would even think..." Dean began, mock-huffily, but he couldn't keep it up. "Okay, I wouldn't kick her outta the back seat," he admitted. It was true enough. Jo was cute, and she handled herself pretty well back at the motel. He had a private bet with himself that she'd be a tiger in the sack.

Ellen looked up from behind the bar as they entered. "Hey, boys," she greeted them warmly. "You just missed your dad."

Sam strode forward at once. "Dad was here?" he asked, so urgently Ellen frowned.

"Sure, Sam, he just left a couple of hours ago." She lifted a glass. "What can I do for you boys?" She looked at Dean as she began polishing the glass.

Dean moved forward to join his brother. "I was hoping Ash would do us a favour. We lost our computer when..." He didn't get any further.

"Ash!" Ellen shouted.

There was a thunk of something hitting wood from around the corner of the bar. Dean heard a muffled, "_Ow!_", and a hand appeared, clutching the edge of the bar. It was followed by Ash's face. Well, as grand entrances go...

Ash hauled himself up to the bar and gazed at Dean through half-closed eyes. "Hey, dude. What do you need?"

Dean started to explain the way he would have described a job to his dad: filling in the background first, the war they knew was coming, the death of the demon that might have averted the war, or might not.

Ash cut him off. "Dude, just tell me where I come in."

Ellen passed Dean two cold bottles of beer. He took one, handed the other to Ash. "Thanks."

"Sam, you feel like hauling a barrel or three?" Ellen suggested.

Sam nodded. "Do you need me for this?" he asked Dean.

It was about as transparent as you could get. Why didn't Sam just say _I want to bitch about you behind your back_? Dean shrugged. "I've got it covered."

Sam slid the folder of John's research across the bar toward Dean and, without another word, disappeared with Ellen.

Dean opened the folder up. They had copies of everything John collected about the coming war: all the signs he'd already found and everything he expected to see in the future. To Ash, he explained, "My dad was tracking omens. Signs. Things that were going to happen if the demon went ahead with its plans. I need to know if any of this is still happening."

Ash made a beckoning gesture and Dean passed him the folder. Ash flicked through the paperwork, then began pulling out the papers and re-arranging them. "Man...this is...this is weird shit, dude."

"Can you do anything with it?" Dean pressed.

Ash scratched his head. "Yeah. I think so." He picked up a hand-drawn map, studying it closely. "Yeah," he said again, more decisively. "Give me...thirty two hours." He gathered up the papers and headed for the door.

Dean called after him. "Hey, Ash!"

He looked back.

"Buy you a beer when you're done?"

Ash grinned. "Don't flirt with me, man. My little sister would be pissed."

He was gone before Dean could come up with a witty retort.

***

There was a musty smell coming from the basement; a smell that reminded Dean of dark places and danger. It made him move more slowly down the steps, taking care to make no sound. His hand hovered over his gun even though he knew there was no danger here and he wouldn't need it.

It was never Dean's intention to eavesdrop. In fact, Dean was about to call out to announce his presence when Sam's voice froze him mid-step.

"Did he tell you I was twelve years old? Ellen, _rape_ is the kindest word for it."

Dean gripped the handrail, fighting not to make a sound.

"John told me," Ellen answered simply.

Sam sighed heavily. "I hated him for so long." There were tears in Sam's voice. "I mean, he's my dad and I love him, but I hated him, too. The way he'd look at me, sometimes...I was scared to death he would..._it_ would happen again. I didn't understand until this last hunt that he...he was saving my life." Sam laughed, a harsh bark of sound that didn't sound like Sam at all. "I don't even know what I feel any more."

"Why haven't you called him?" Ellen asked, her voice gentle.

"I can't. How would I talk to him after what we did? But it's not only that. Ellen, I don't know what's in Dean's head right now, but I know he's freaked out by all this. I had to make a choice."

"Choose between Dean and your father?"

"Yeah. And the way Dad raised us...I know he'd expect me to stay with Dean. So that's what I'm doing."

There was a silence. Dean's couldn't take in what Sam had said. ..._I was twelve years old..._ Shit.

Sam's voice came again. "When you saw him...is Dad okay?"

"I've seen him worse, Sam. But you really should call him."

"_He_ could call _me_, you know. I wouldn't hang up."

"Stubborn."

"Runs in the family."

Dean cleared his throat loudly and continued down the staircase. He saw Sam leap up, startled, as he came into view. Dean managed to smiled. "Whoa, Sammy. Nervous, much?"

"Don't sneak up on people," Sam accused. He recovered quickly, visibly relaxing. "Did Ash find anything?" he asked, his voice even.

"He's working on it. Said he needs thirty two hours."

Sam grinned. "That's specific."

Ellen hauled a box down from a stack, turning to pass it to Sam as if they'd been doing this all along. "That's Ash," she said to Dean. "He'll stick to that time, too. You boys are welcome to stay the night here if you want to wait for him."

Dean answered quickly, "No thanks. We're fine."

Sam looked at him in surprise. With a look, Dean told him to shut the hell up. He couldn't stay in this place for more than a day, pretending everything was great, after what he just heard.

***

Dean slid his hand beneath his pillow until his fingertips encountered the cool steel of the knife he kept there. He kept his eyes closed, pretending to sleep. The motel bed was none too comfortable, but that wasn't the thing that woke him. What woke him was the all-too-familiar sounds from the next bed. Sam was jerking himself off.

Sam was pretty good at doing this quietly. Dean could hear only the ragged edge of Sam's breathing, but that was enough. He had lived with his little brother for too long not to recognise that sound.

Sam's bed creaked slightly as his movements speeded up. Sam froze for a moment, changed his position, then went right on beating his meat. Now Dean could hear the small, bouncing movements of Sam's bed.

He knew when Sam was close to orgasm. His breathing became louder and more rapid, little gasps of pleasure and exertion. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to listen.

Sam groaned, "Dad...god...Dad..."

Dean's hand closed over the knife blade so the edge cut into his palm. Pain came, sharp and welcome. He felt the blood flow, ticklish against his skin. He gripped the blade harder.

***

Dean knew Ash would find something, but he'd never anticipated this.

"Holy shit," Sam breathed. Dean figured that would do for both of them.

In a corner of the Roadhouse, they sat around a table with Ash and Jo, poring over the information Ash had collected. Sam was going over a map of the USA, a map peppered with coloured marks: black crosses for weather anomalies, red for demonic possessions, blue for cattle mutilations and so on.

Jo smoothed out a corner of the map. She hadn't been invited, but when she squeezed herself into the space beside Dean he didn't tell her to leave. "There's been a slow increase in demonic activity over the past year," Jo said.

Dean nodded: Bobby had told them that, too. _More and more demons are walking among us._

"...But it looks like it suddenly got a whole lot worse about a month ago," Jo concluded.

She was right. Dean looked at Sam. "A month ago. Like when you and Dad killed the yellow-eyed demon."

Sam nodded grimly. "It makes sense, doesn't it? The demon was a powerful son of a bitch. We took that out - the rest will try to grab a share of that power."

Which meant, though Sam wasn't saying it, that some of this mess was their fault. Dean looked down at the map again. "Where the hell do we start?" he asked aloud.

"Depends what you're looking for, I guess," Ash suggested unhelpfully.

"We need Dad," Sam said, and, at Dean's sharp look he added, "He's been working on this for a year. He knows more than we do, Dean."

"You don't want to get bogged down by the big picture," Jo said seriously. "I mean, you guys are hunters, right?"

Dean frowned, turning his attention to her. "Right. What's your point?"

"_My_ dad told me," Jo said, "the only way to fight the war against evil is one battle at a time." She pulled a sheaf of printouts from beneath the map and spread them out over it. "So pick a hunt."

Sam smiled suddenly. "Girl's got a point." He began to sift through the papers, quickly. "We should call Dad, Dean, see what he thinks about all this, but in the meantime..." He thrust a sheet of paper into Dean's face. "I think we should start here."

Dean took the paper from Sam. There were two articles on the page. The first was an obituary for a catholic priest, who apparently died in a fall after visiting a sick parishioner. The second looked like it a capture from someone's online blog. Dean skimmed it quickly. The author - not named, but he guessed it was a woman - asserted that Father Doherty was murdered by the girl he'd been visiting. She claimed she'd seen him fall, but gave no coherent details of what happened. At the bottom of the article someone, probably Ash, had written _Confirmed - exorcism authorised by bishop (failed?)_

Dean laid the paper down. "Looks worth checking out, Sam. But why this one and not the two hundred others?"

"Look where it happened."

Dean looked, and understood. Jefferson City, Missouri.

***

It took three measures of Ellen's whiskey before Dean was ready to make the phone call. He went out to the car to do it, mostly because the bar was too noisy. He left the car door open, his feet on the ground outside and dialled John's cell phone.

The call connected quickly and Dean heard it ring. Once. Twice. On the third ring the call was answered and for an instant Dean actually heard his dad's voicemail message in his head: _This is John Winchester. I can't be reached..._

"Dean. It's good to hear from you."

Dean was taken aback by how damned _good_ it felt just to hear his dad's voice. Then he remembered Sam saying _Did he tell you I was twelve years old?_ and whatever goodwill he'd been feeling vanished. Dean swallowed. "Hi, Dad."

"What's wrong?" John asked sharply.

So much for subtle. Dean ignored the question. "You wanted us to let you know about any demonic activity we found."

" Are you both okay? What's happening?"

Dean took a breath. "Jeez, dad, yeah. We're fine. Listen, Bobby told us a storm's comin'. Seems it's getting a lot worse since you and Sam killed the demon. It's mostly the usual low-level stuff, but there's a lot of it."

"I need _details_, Dean."

"Yes, sir. We're leaving a copy of everything we found with Ellen at the Roadhouse. She said she'll mail it on to you if you don't want to pick it up in person."

"You're at the Roadhouse?" For the first time, John sounded surprised.

"We're just leavin'." Dean hesitated, then volunteered the truth before John could ask for it. "We've got a hunt - a possession in Jefferson City. The victim's just a kid and it sounds like the demon already killed at least once."

"Killed who?"

"A priest. Demon tossed him out a window when he tried an exorcism."

He heard John's sharp intake of breath. "Sure you two can handle it?"

Dean smiled to himself. Sam performed a full-on exorcism on a crowded plane while it was falling out of the sky. One little girl barfing pea soup would be nothing. The priest's death did bother him, but Dean knew from Pastor Jim that most priests had no clue how to handle a demon.

"We can handle it," he said confidently.

There was a short silence, then, "Okay. Give me a call when you know more." John hesitated, then asked, "How's Sam?"

I was twelve years old...I hated him for so long...

"Sammy's...okay. We're okay. We're still hunting."

"Any more visions?"

"No, sir," Dean answered at once, then he amended, "not that he's told me."

"That's a relief," John said, and it sounded like he meant it. "Okay. Good luck with your exorcism."

"Thanks, Dad." Dean ended the call. He ran a hand over the steering wheel then got our and leaned over the Impala's roof. "Sammy!" he yelled. "Come on! Time's wastin'!"

***

Dean ran a finger along the inside of his collar. The damned thing was too tight against his skin.

"Dude, quit playing with it," Sam hissed at him. It was scary how comfortable Sam looked in the priest costume. Sam's too-long hair was slicked back neatly. The black shirt was a little stretched across his broad shoulders but the collar seemed to fit him perfectly. He wore a silver crucifix to complete the ensemble, and in a weird way it suited him. He looked like he dressed like this every day.

Dean, on the other hand, was already wondering if his brother had put itching powder in his shirt again. "I hate this thing," he muttered, trying once more to loosen the collar. He snatched his hand away when the door before them opened.

The woman who stood there looked about fifty, perhaps older. She was a petite woman, wearing a green striped dress, her salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a ponytail. She carried a dish towel in one hand. "Hello?" she said to Sam.

"Mrs Cotrell? I'm Father Sam Whelan and this is my...my colleague, Father Simmons. We spoke on the phone."

She twisted the dish towel in her hands, offering a nervous smile. "Yes, yes, of course. Please come in."

They followed Mrs Cotrell into the house. The front door opened directly into the main living room, but the room was dimly lit: curtains and blinds were closed over every window, but no lights were on. It reminded Dean of the way some people cover windows and mirrors when someone dies. But no one in this family was dead...not yet.

"You'll be wanting to see Terri," Mrs Cotrell said, still with that small tremor in her voice.

"Soon," Sam agreed, "But we need to speak with you and your husband first. Is he around?"

Dean let Sam do the talking. He slipped a hand into his pocket, surreptitiously taking out the new EMF meter he'd constructed. Only one of the LEDs glowed red: no unusual EMF detected. He glanced around the room. There were four photographs in frames on one wall, all showing the same little girl at four different ages. She was perhaps three in the first, all huge eyes and dark curls, dressed in pink like some living Junior Barbie doll. In the last, she was ten, wearing a white sun-dress and laughing at the camera as she squinted into the sun.

"Would you like some tea?" Mrs Cotrell was offering, and Dean realised he'd missed part of the conversation. He hated tea, but Sam was already accepting the offer.

Dean, following Sam's lead, sat down in a chintz-covered armchair. Sam took the couch. The chairs were very soft. Most of the rest of the furniture - the table, the bureau - was dark-stained oak. All very traditional stuff. Dean saw no sign that this was anything other than a normal, suburban family. Demon-worshippers didn't usually leave their black magik books right out in the open, but still...he thought he'd notice some kind of sign. The only thing even slightly weird was Mrs Cotrell's age: she seemed old to have a ten-year-old kid.

So: just an average family. Who knew why demons picked on the people they did?

"What do you think?" Sam asked in a low voice, while Mrs Cotrell called up the stairs to her husband.

"EMF's quiet," Dean answered. It ain't the house." He met Sam's determined look uneasily. "Are you sure we've got to tell 'em...?"

"We can't perform an exorcism on a kid without making sure her parents know what could happen," Sam insisted.

Dean rolled his eyes. Sammy was such a stickler for the moral details. Dean understood his point; he even agreed with Sam, but he was more practical than his brother. If this _was_ a demonic possession, the demon needed exorcising. With or without the parents' consent, because no matter what, the alternative was worse. The trouble with telling the truth, as Sam wanted to do, was it tended to scare people.

Mrs Cotrell returned carrying a tray with tea and cookies. She was flanked by a man Dean assumed was her husband: he looked as normal as the wife, a stocky, balding man wearing paint-spattered jeans and a scruffy shirt: a lot more Joe-Normal than the well-dressed Mrs Cotrell. It made Dean like him, a little.

Sam stood to shake the man's hand; Dean did the same.

Mr Cotrell narrowed his eyes as he looked at Sam, then Dean, then back to Sam. "You're a little young for an expert, aren't you?" His tone wasn't hostile, but it wasn't too friendly, either.

"There are no real experts when it comes to possession, sir," Sam gave his most disarming smile. "What I am is experienced, and I'm older than I look."

"How'd you get to be _experienced_?" Mr Cotrell asked.

He was blunt, and he was carefully not calling Sam "Father" or using names. He was a sceptic, Dean guessed. The wife was the churchgoer. Dean ignored the tea, but grabbed a cookie from the plate as Mrs Cotrell set it down.

Sam answered, speaking to both husband and wife, lying through his teeth and sounding very sincere. "My first mission was in South America and there was an...incident in a village I visited. I'm not allowed to talk about the details, but we did save more than one person from possession." He addressed Mr Cotrell. "According to Church doctrine, any priest can perform an exorcism. Father Doherty...he was a good man. We can't know what went wrong, but the Church doesn't want to give up on your little girl, and I know for sure God won't. We hope experience can make the difference, if you'll allow us to try."

Dean had to choke back his instinctive reaction to the saccharine-God-talk, but hell, whatever works. He glanced at Mr Cotrell, who apparently shared Dean's feelings.

Cotrell's look was challenging. "What makes you think _God_ will help you any better than he did Father Doherty? I don't want paramedics scraping anyone else off my driveway."

"God helps us all, sir," Sam answered carefully. "We don't always understand, but it's always true." Sam leaned forward, clasping his hands. "If you don't mind, we do need to ask you some questions before we see your daughter."

That was Dean's cue, and he hurriedly swallowed his third cookie. He didn't even try to mimic Sam's trust-me face; the whole puppy-dog-eyes routine never worked for him. "Can you tell us when you first noticed Terri behaving...differently?"

Mrs Cotrell looked ready to cry. "We already explained to - "

Sam interrupted her gently. "I know. I understand this is difficult. We won't ask you for the full story, it's just important we know certain things."

Mr Cotrell patted his wife's hand, then answered Dean's question. "Terri was sent home from school for hurting another child."

"That was about a month ago," Dean prompted. "You didn't notice anything before then?"

"No. Nothing."

"Before that day," Dean asked carefully, "was there anything unusual happening in Terri's life? Anything that might have been traumatic for her?"

The couple looked at each other before Mr Cotrell answered, "My sister died three months ago. A heart attack. But Terri wasn't close to her. I don't think it was a trauma." He frowned, looking at Dean. "Are you saying that could have caused...what's happening to her?"

"Not exactly, but - " Dean began.

Sam cut in smoothly. "Most cases of possession happen when a person is weakened somehow, sometimes by illness or mental illness. That doesn't seem to be what happened to Terri. It's...unusual." Sam was silent for a moment, then went on. "There's one more thing we need to know, and this is very important."

Sam waited until both of them acknowledged his words. "Since this began, has Terri..." Sam swallowed, and Dean knew he was remembering Meg, her broken body dying in his arms. "Has she hurt herself at all, or has anything happened that _should_ have hurt her? I don't mean bumps and bruises. I mean any serious harm."

Mrs Cotrell's hands shook around her mug. "Why do you need to know that?" she asked quietly.

"Just answer the question," Dean said impatiently. It earned him a _look_ from Sam.

Sam answered gently. "The demon possessing your daughter doesn't feel physical pain or weakness. But Terri's body can still be hurt. If, for example, she broke her leg while in this state, the demon could still get up and walk around. You might not even know she was injured, but her body won't heal itself while the demon is there." Sam reached across the table to cup Mrs Cotrell's shaking hands in his. "Mrs Cotrell, when Dean and I perform this exorcism, we'll need as few people around as possible, because anyone in this house could be in danger. But if Terri has been hurt, there should be a doctor here."

She lifted her eyes to Sam's face. "Thank you for explaining."

"Has Terri been hurt?" Sam asked her.

"Not badly. Not broken bones or anything. She was cut..."

"Cut where?" Dean asked.

She was silent, and Sam released her hands and sat down again. "It's okay. A cut, even if it's bad, means the real danger is blood loss or infection. We can have a car ready to go to the ER."

Dean wasn't so sure it was safe, but he let it go. "Can we see her?" he asked.

***

They followed Mr Cotrell up to the girl's room. The house was a three-storey building, and the girl's room was on the third floor. Mr Cotrell unlocked the room. He offered no explanation for the lock, just turned the handle and opened it.

The smell of sulphur hit Dean instantly. He exchanged a look with Sam, who gave a small nod. They both knew what that meant.

Dean hung back when Sam walked into the room. He spoke to Mr Cotrell. "Listen, I know you're not a believer, but Sam and I can help you here. You only have to trust us."

Mr Cotrell nodded without speaking.

Dean walked into the room.

The Cotrells had turned the room into a kind of makeshift padded cell. Matresses and feather-stuffed comforters lined the walls and floor. The girl lay in a bed with pillows tied around every sharp edge. She was tied to the bed with hospital-like restraints. Dean wondered where the restraints came from - it wasn’t the kind of thing you could pick up at Walmart. Dean turned to the girl's father, blocking his attempt to enter the room. "Please. It's best if we see her alone." Dean waited there. He could see the man wasn't happy, but after a hesitation he did back off and allow Dean to close the door.

Sam had moved around to the window. There was a large piece of plywood nailed over the window frame where the glass should be. The only light came from a crack between the plywood and the frame where the wood wasn't quite the right shape. Sam turned to look at the girl on the bed. His face said it all.

"It's like something out of a movie," Sam breathed.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "and we both know which one." He found the light switch and turned it on. The room flooded with green light. Green? He looked up and understood. The light bulb was a child's night-light. Green light was better than nothing, so he left it on.

Terri's eyes opened when Dean flipped the light switch. Dean met her gaze. Her eyes were human eyes, but the skin around them was dark and bruised. She looked terribly pale. She was wearing yellow pyjamas with cartoon characters on them. In the photographs downstairs she had long, glossy, black hair but now her hair was cut very short, but not neatly. It looked as if someone had hacked her hair off with a knife.

Her eyes followed Dean as he walked around the bed. He still smelled sulphur. Reaching the far side of the bed, Dean crouched down and spoke to her. He kept his voice gentle, just as if she were a little girl. "Hello, Terri. My name's Dean."

"I killed the last priest who tried to fuck with me," the demon declared. The voice was high and sweet, like a child's voice, but the words and the inflection were definitely not those of a child. "This bitch is mine."

_You saw that movie too? Cool._ Dean pulled a small glass bottle from his pocket. Her eyes followed his movement. The bottle was just ordinary tap water; a test of sorts. Dean held the bottle over her, letting a little water drip onto her face. She didn't react at first. Then she laughed, mockingly. It wasn't a child's laugh.

Sam's turn. He flung out an arm, splashing her with holy water from his own bottle. This time she cried out, writhing in the restraints as her skin turned the water to hot steam. Her eyes burned black and she stared at Sam with naked hatred in her face.

It was as if time stopped. As his eyes met the demon's eyes, Sam froze. The girl - the demon - drew in a breath. She cried out something in a language Dean didn't recognise. Dean stared at Sam. He didn't understand what was happening.

Sam tore his gaze away from the demon. It looked like a great, physical effort just for him to look away. The connection between them seemed to break and Sam relaxed. "Salt, Dean. We need salt."

Dean nodded. "Let's do this."

***

He left Sam to talk with the parents while he went out to the car. There wasn't much chance they'd agree to stay out of the way - it was their kid. But if anyone could talk them into it, Sam could.

The supplies were ready: holy water, salt, the ritual and various religious paraphernalia that Dean wouldn't have bothered using if they didn't need to keep up the pretence that they were priests. He slung the bag over his shoulder, locked the car and headed back into the house.

He found Sam, grim-faced, outside the girl's room.

"Ready?" Dean asked. It was supposed to be a rhetorical question.

"I don't know."

Dean frowned. "You're kidding, right?"

Sam shook his head. "Dean, something about this just doesn't feel right. I don't know...it's...it feels like some kind of setup."

Dean considered that. Sammy had good instincts and they'd both noticed something odd. But vague fears were no reason to bail on a hunt, and there was no doubt there was a demon in that kid. "There's something goin' on, yeah. But that girl's possessed, and it's our job to fix that. Okay? Sammy?"

Sam's face screwed up with pain and he clapped a hand over his eyes. Dean dropped the bag of supplies and closed the distance between himself and Sam, ready to catch him if he fell. After a moment, Sam relaxed and opened his eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean repeated, worriedly.

"Just a headache," Sam said quickly. "I'll be fine in a moment."

Dean wasn't convinced. This was happening a lot lately: these sudden headaches of Sam's, so similar to his visions, except Sam wasn't seeing anything. As far as Dean could tell, he wasn't doing anything remotely psychic. So why the pain? Could Sam have some lingering head injury from the crash?

He should tell their dad...just in case.

"Dean. Are we gonna do this?"

Dean realised he'd been silent for too long. He picked up the bag of supplies and moved past Sam into the room. The stink of sulphur was still strong and the room was stuffy and hot. Opening the window wasn't really an option.

Dean left the bag of supplies open, against the padded wall. "We'll need to move the bed," he suggested to Sam.

The demon's eyes were coal-black. She spat at Sam as he moved to the head of the bed. "You will fail," she hissed, "as the weak priest failed."

Sam wiped her spittle from his face. "I'm not a priest, and neither of us is weak."

Working together, they lifted the bed and the girl with it. She tugged against her restraints, thrashing from side to side, moaning as they moved the bed to the centre of the room. There, they could draw a circle around the bed. Dean would have preferred to use a Devil's Trap, but that would have blown their cover, big time. Salt would do.

Sam lowered his side of the bed, afraid the demon was going to hurt the child's body it inhabited. He leaned over and grasped Terri's shoulders, holding her down. He gasped when he touched her, as if touching her skin hurt him.

The demon screamed at Sam's touch, a babble of words that might have been Latin, but it went by too fast for Dean to translate.

Sam snapped, "Dean, _salt_!" He struggled to hold the girl's body still as she continued to scream.

Dean grabbed the salt and began to draw the circle. Sam stayed where he was until the circle was almost done, then stepped back to give Dean room to complete the circle. As soon as the circle was closed, the demon stopped struggling.

Dean drew in a breath of relief. "What was she saying?" he asked, not expecting Sam to know.

Sam looked shaken. "It was the _Pater Noster_ in reverse. It's calling out to its father."

Father? Meg called the Yellow-eyed demon her father. Dean stared at Sam for a moment. The demon that killed their mother was dead, but there had to be others, other high-level demons with their own demon-spawn. Okay, let's think about this. This was good, right? If the demon was calling for help, it was scared. ...Right?

Sam opened the book with the ritual of exorcism.

The demon raised her body off the bed, as much as the restraints allowed. It stared at Sam and laughed. "You can't touch me. You carry Hell within you."

Dean saw Sam flinch at the words, but an instant later his expression hardened. "If that's true, it hasn't stopped me before."

Sam's words made no sense to Dean, but this wasn't the time to get distracted. "Sammy, don't let it get into your head."

The demon snarled, "You opened your soul to us. Darkness fills you and I'll see you in Hell!"

"You might," Sam answered evenly, "but you'll be there first." He raised the book. "Regna terrae..."

***

Dean sat at the top of the staircase, resting his temple against the cool wall. He touched his cheek and found the skin still tacky with blood. The demon did this without even touching him. Just a gesture and blood sprayed out of him.

The room behind him was quiet, but the exorcism wasn't over. He was beginning to wonder if this would ever be over. He glanced wearily at his watch. Shit. They'd been doing this for nearly fourteen hours.

Dean knew an exorcism could take a long time. John warned him about that years before, but this was the first time Dean experienced it. This kind of thing had always been...well, not _easy_, but never this hard. He and Sam had tried everything they knew. John would tell him, if there's nothing left, you just keep going. It's like a game of cat-and-mouse: the demon is looking for your weaknesses, pushing your buttons and wearing you down. So don't show weakness and don't give up. You'll win in the end because the alternative is unacceptable.

John's words came back to Dean then, but with them, a warning. An exorcism that went on for too long could be terribly dangerous for the exorcist. Dean couldn't remember who told him that: Bobby, perhaps. It hadn't been his father. A demon couldn't just pick a human host. It needed a way in, a crack in the psyche. Some weakness. Exhaustion could be that weakness, and Dean knew he was getting close to that point. But close or not, they had the demon trapped behind salt. They could go on.

Dean heard Sam's footsteps behind him but didn't turn around. Sam sat on the stair beside him. "Dean, are you okay?"

"It's just a scratch," Dean answered, deliberately misunderstanding. "Is she...?"

"She's alright for now. Quiet. Sleeping, I think."

"Huh." It was the best response Dean's battered mind could come up with.

Sam sighed. "Maybe we should call Dad. Or Bobby."

"We could use the help," Dean agreed, "but I don't see Bobby wearin' one of these." He indicated the priest's collar he still wore. "I don't think the Cotrells would let him in."

"You could be right." Sam reached out toward his brother. "Dean, look at me."

There was such worry in Sammy's voice that Dean obeyed automatically, turning his head so Sam could see the gash on his cheek. But it also meant _he_ could see Sam clearly. Sam was pale, the shadow of his beard standing out starkly in the light from the window. There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked back at Dean with no sign of his usual smile. No sign even of hope.

"Dean, that cut needs stitching."

Dean touched the cut again. "Yeah, probably. It'll have to wait." He knew the side of his face was covered with blood. He knew that if he didn't get the gash treated, it was going to heal very ugly, and either way he'd end up with a scar. He couldn't think about himself. All he could think about was that poor kid. _Dean_ was near exhausted and scared...how must _she_ be feeling? If she was even awake in there...

"They lied to us," Sam said abruptly.

Dean looked at him.

"Her parents," Sam explained. "There's no way the demon could have this tight a hold on her unless she was...I don't know, _broken_ already. Or it was put there, deliberately."

Sam was right in theory, but... "I don't think they're devil worshippers, Sammy."

"Then the girl was abused, or she's mentally ill. Either way, the parents have to know something." He gazed up at the ceiling. "This job is easier when we can just shoot the monsters. Or dig up graves." Sam gave a quick smile. "There's something I thought I'd never say."

Dean nodded, relieved to see even that brief smile. "You picked this job." He said it quietly, a statement not an accusation. Sam wanted to do this because it was Jefferson City, where the demons held their dad. But if there was any connection, he wasn't seeing it.

What the hell did a demon have to gain from taking this kid, anyway? It was trapped in the body of a ten-year-old girl, in a locked room. It couldn't do anything in there, so why was it holding on so tight? Was there something special about this kid? The demon was killing her as certainly as another demon killed Meg: killing her slowly, wearing her body out piece by piece so that if this exorcism went on for much longer, there wouldn't be anything left of her to save.

Then Dean understood. Maybe it was remembering his father that did it. Sam said this had the feel of a setup. He was right.

Dean wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand. "Sam...you said this was like a movie," he said thoughtfully. Not just any movie. One move in particular: _The Exorcist_. Probably the most famous horror movie ever, it ended with both of the priests dead, but it wasn't the deaths Dean was remembering. In the film, the traditional exorcism failed. What worked at the end, in true Hollywood style, was the priest's demand that the demon take him instead of the girl. It did, and he took a swan dive out the window, but the girl was saved.

If this was a movie...

Dean stood up. "I'm goin' back in there."

Sam grabbed his arm. "Dean, what are you thinking?"

Dean couldn't tell Sam what he was thinking. If he did, Sam would never let him go back in that room. Sam could follow his lead, though. They just might all get out of this. So Dean just shook his head without speaking and walked toward the door.

Sam blocked his way. "Dean. No. Whatever you're thinking. No."

"Got a better plan, Sam?"

"Call Dad."

"There ain't time. That kid is gonna die. We have to get that thing out of her, today. Now. You can help, or get the fuck out of my way."

Sam held his gaze for a moment and then stepped aside. "Okay. I'll help. But this is the dumbest idea you've ever had."

"Just keep reading the ritual, and be ready, okay?"

"Don't do this, man."

"O_kay_?" Dean insisted.

"Fuck. Okay."

"Good." Dean opened the door.

He found the demon almost free of the restraints. Dean saw the unnatural angle of the girl's left hand and knew the demon had broken her wrist getting free. It couldn't cross the circle of salt, but having her free was dangerous. The demon could damage the body it was wearing.

Dean yelled, "Sam! Read!" He didn't wait but ran toward the bed, the girl and the demon, reaching out to push her back down onto the bed. The instant he crossed the salt circle, Terri screamed as if in agony.

Black smoke billowed around them both.

Sam screamed, "No!"

And suddenly Dean was airborne. His body flew through the air, over the salt barrier. He hit the wall with a bone-crushing impact and even through the padding he felt the plaster crack. Dean couldn't hear Sam chanting any more. His body slid down the wall, his legs crumpling beneath him.

Dean tried to call out to Sam, to tell him to keep reading. The black smoke meant the demon had released its hold on Terri - not completely, but enough. The exorcism would work now. He tried to tell Sam but no sound came. He struggled to raise his head and when he did, he saw Sam moving toward the salt barrier.

And he saw one more thing, something that filled him with more terror than anything else ever could. The darkness swallowed him and Dean knew no more.

***

The first thing to come back was his hearing. There was a child, somewhere, crying like she would never stop. The next thing was the light: green electric light flooding the room. Dean's brain was working well enough for him to realise that was good: at some point during the exorcism all the electrics in the house went out. That it was back meant one way or another, it was over.

Sammy! Where was Sam?

The adrenaline rush was enough to open Dean's eyes, enough for him to get his hands under him and start to get up. He saw Sam at once, and a part of the tightness in his chest eased. But only a part. Why?

Sam was sitting in a corner of the padded room, cradling the crying girl in his arms, stroking her hair slowly, trying to comfort her. The girl was no longer in the circle of salt. That was good. She was free, then.

So why did Dean still have this hollow feeling in his stomach? Why was there a hand around his heart, squeezing so tight he could barely breathe?

It came back to him in pieces. The black smoke filling the air all around him. His body, out of his control, flying across the room. Hitting the wall, then the floor. Looking up to see Sam...

...to see Sam glance his way and...

...and the flash of yellow-gold in Sam's eyes right before Dean blacked out.

No. No way. It was just a trick of the light. It had to be.

"Sammy?" Dean forced the word from his dry throat.

"Dean! Thank god. Are you okay?"

Pain ripped through Dean's body as he struggled to his feet. He clenched his teeth to avoid crying out, but a small sound escaped him. He grabbed the wall for support. "I think I broke a couple of ribs. But I'm...I'm good." He walked toward Sam and the girl. Every step hurt, and he struggled to keep the fear out of his expression. He was hurt - how badly, he couldn't tell just yet - and if Sam was...not Sam...Dean was about to get himself, and maybe the kid, killed.

Still clinging onto the padded wall, Dean crouched near them, close enough to touch Sam but not actually touching either of them.

"She's okay," Sam said quietly. "The demon's gone." The girl was clinging to him, still crying, her tear-stained face turned into Sam's chest.

Dean looked closely at his brother, trying to meet his eyes, but Sam was watching the girl. "Christo," Dean said clearly. Sam looked down at the girl as he spoke, which turned his face away from Dean. But the gesture seemed natural. Dean saw no other reaction and if there was something in Sam, he should have seen it. He allowed himself to relax...a little.

"Sam...are you...?"

"I'm fine." He looked up, meeting Dean's eyes at last. "I think she needs a trip to the ER, though. So do you, if you really think you broke a rib."

"Yeah," Dean grunted past the pain. "Let's go."

***

Dean's ribs were not broken, only badly bruised from his fall. The ER doctor - a pretty blonde intern with a lovely smile and an intense manner Dean found very attractive - put six stitches in his cut cheek and advised Dean not to play football with such rough partners. Dean replied that he'd consider it, but he thought football was much safer than chess. He considered asking her to have a drink with him later but he was just too tired to summon up the enthusiasm.

Terri Cotrell appeared to remember nothing of her ordeal. Her left arm was badly broken, but that was the worst of her injuries. Her parents were thrilled to have her back. While Dean was getting his ribs x-rayed, Sam, who was still dressed as a priest, had a quiet word with Terri's doctor about possible abuse. He let the doctor think it was something she'd said in confession - it was the best way to avoid further questioning - and made it clear he didn't think her parents were the abusers. It was the best he could do to protect her, and the doctor promised to examine Terri thoroughly and take it from there.

Dean kept remembering that flash of gold in Sam's eyes. He wanted to believe he'd imagined it or dreamed it. But he was a hunter. He didn't have that luxury.

As they packed their things back into the Impala's trunk, Dean deliberately dropped the last of their holy water, splashing most of it on Sam. He tried to make it look like an accident, but Sam knew him far too well.

"Dude! You think _I'm_ possessed now?"

There wasn't really a way to deny it, so Dean shrugged and tried to play it down. "Just checking," he muttered.

"Checking?" Sam repeated. "Dean, why would you think...?"

Dean slammed the trunk closed. "Up in that room, I thought I saw something. It was right before I blacked out and I didn't know if I was seeing things. I had to check, Sammy."

Sam frowned. "What did you see?"

"Your eyes," Dean admitted. "It doesn't matter, Sam. You didn't react to the holy water, or when I said _Christo_. You pass." He kept his eyes on Sam again as he repeated the name of God, and again saw no real reaction. Sam blinked, but that was all. A demon should flinch and reveal itself, even if only for a moment. Sam passed.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Back at their motel, both brothers were too tired to do anything but sleep. Dean didn't even remember to salt the windows and door. He just stripped off his clothing and crawled into bed. In seconds, he was asleep.

Dean woke, briefly, when Sam got up. It was the click of the lock that woke him: Sam slipping out for coffee. Dean lay still, half expecting to hear the purr of his car, but no sound came. He thought vaguely that Sammy was way too fond of his long walks before sleep claimed him again.

When Dean woke again, several hours later, Sam was gone.

***

"Come on! Pick up your damn phone!" Dean almost shouted the words, pacing the motel room as the line rang frustratingly.

"Hello?"

_Finally!_ "Dad, it's me. Sammy's gone." Dean went on quickly, wanting to provide as much information as he could before John started yelling at him. "He took off while I was sleepin'. Left a note saying he's got something to take care of but I don't have a clue what that is or where he's gone. Dad, I - "

"Whoa! Dean, slow down." John didn't sound concerned at all. Then he said, "Your brother is fine."

_Holy shit_. "What? Is he with you?" Dean demanded, a thousand questions rising to his lips. "Where - ?"

John interrupted. "Sam called me. He's on his way here. His plane lands in..." there was a pause, as if John were checking his watch, "a little over an hour."

_He's on a plane. Well, fuck you, Sammy. You really didn't want me following, did ya?_ Dean took a deep breath, mentally counting to ten. "Where are you, Dad?" he asked, his voice calm and even.

"California. Not far from Palo Alto."

Dean swallowed. Why was John in Palo Alto? Why there of all places? It was almost the anniversary of Jessica's death; that couldn't be a coincidence. Dean didn't ask.

"Dad, did Sam tell you what's going on with him?"

John ignored Dean's question. "Why don't you tell me what you know, son?"

Years of training made Dean swallow the things he wanted to say. "I'm worried about him, Dad. He's been getting these headaches..." Dean told John everything. The headaches, so like Sam's psychic-thing, but not. Dean's worry that they could be some lingering injury from the crash. He told John about the exorcism, too, and the weird things the demon said to Sam. He played down Sam throwing him into the wall - or was it the demon that sent him flying? - but he did mention the golden light he thought he saw in Sam's eyes.

When Dean concluded his report, John was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, "I didn't know any of this."

"I don't even know if it was real, Dad. It probably wasn't. I blacked out for a while, so..."

"So it's possible your memory is wrong," John concluded. "It's _likely_. You tested for possession."

"Yeah, and Sam passed." But Dean remembered they'd tested John for possession, too, after Meg abducted him. John didn't react to holy water, and he'd been possessed. _Did you think something like that works on something like me?_ the yellow-eyed demon had said. But that had to be an exception. It was gone forever.

"I'll be seeing Sam soon," John said. "We'll find out what's going on."

"It's gonna take me a few days to drive to you," Dean mentioned. If John told him not to come, Dean was gonna disobey orders for the first time in...

"Alright. Don't worry, Dean. I've got this covered until you get here."

The invisible hand squeezing Dean's heart eased off a little. "Thanks, Dad. I'm on my way."

He pocketed the phone, picked up his gear, and headed out to the car.

The yellow-eyed demon might be dead, but something was still coming. Dean needed to know what, and he needed to know how the hell he was going to protect his little brother.

_Something big is coming, and it's coming for Sammy. You've got to save him, Dean. You're the only one who can do it, and you mustn't tell him. He can't know, because if you can't save him, son, you might have to kill him_.

**End of _Ceremony of Innocence_.**

The series continues in _Slouching Toward Bethlehem III: You Can't Go Home Again_


End file.
